


The Poodle of the Baskervilles

by japansace



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dogs, In The Dark Of Night | yoihorrorzine, M/M, Mystery, Sherlock Holmes-esque, featuring consulting detective Yuuri and cryptid Victor, which is a very necessary tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 07:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/pseuds/japansace
Summary: "And we found the perfect place!” Isabella sighed, earrings tinkling as she hung her head. “Or it would be. But it seems it’s haunted.”Yuuri stopped from where he was pouring tea, the steady stream of earl grey from his pot slowing to plodding trickle. “Haunted?”(feat. art by nikiforoov)





	The Poodle of the Baskervilles

**Author's Note:**

> My YOI horror zine piece! It was the first zine I was in that I was actually _invited_ to, so it'll always hold a special place in my heart. <3

221B Baker Street was as quiet as it was boring.

(Which was to say, not at all.)

“This is the last time I take on a case aboard a steamship, Vicchan,” Yuuri promised his faithful companion, wringing the sea water from his hair. “I always end up soaked.”

Vicchan ignored his master, jumping atop the recliner to permanently imbue the fabric with the scent of wet dog.

“Ah—!” Yuuri exclaimed, the pup having had himself a satisfying shake, drenching his owner anew. “_Vicchan_!”

A knock compelled Yuuri to tuck away his lecture for later. “Enter.”

The door creaked forward, just a crack. “Am I to assume this is the residence of a Mr. Katsuki?” a disembodied voice posed.

“You would indeed be correct in assuming that,” Yuuri answered, lifting the towel from his head to toss it upon the mantel. “Do come in. What can I do for you?”

The entrance parted all the way, admitting a young couple—and a wealthy one at that, by the looks of it.

“Forgive us if we are interrupting something,” the man said, no doubt taking in Yuuri’s sodden attire.

“Not at all.” Yuuri gently shooed Vicchan from his spot and sat down, motioning for the couple to follow suit. “I just came back from a case that… well… rather got away from me. But don’t take that as an indication of incompetence. I promise you quality detective work, if that is indeed what you are here for.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Katsuki!” the woman assured, setting herself upon the chaise. “We’ve heard too many good things—and yes, we are here to beg for your help in a matter. It’s quite urgent.”

Yuuri folded one leg over the other. “By all means, tell me what troubles you.”

“Well firstly, I am Jean Jacques Leroy—“ He gestured to his counterpart. “—and this is my wife, Isabella.”

“We were only married last month,” Isabella added, practically bursting with pride.

“My congratulations.”

“Yes, well, our marriage is going soundly—or would be, if not for one little hiccup.”

“Hiccup?”

“Yes. After the marriage, we decided our current dwelling was a bit too small to accommodate a growing family. We immediately began looking for a new place to call home upon returning from our honeymoon.”

“And we found the perfect place!” Isabella sighed, earrings tinkling as she hung her head. “Or it would be. But it seems it’s haunted.”

Yuuri stopped from where he was pouring tea, the steady stream of earl grey from his pot slowing to plodding trickle. “Haunted?”

“I’m afraid so.” Jean Jacques grimaced. “We thought it was too good to be true: a house just outside of London, ensconced by a forest. Already furnished—and not to mention enormous. We were assured the only reason the price was low was because it was a bit old and thus out of style. But when we arrived to see the place, we were met with a most gruesome sight.”

Yuuri set cups before his guests. “Which was…?”

“Oh, I can hardly bear to recall it! It was so dreadful.” Isabella dabbed the corner of a handkerchief to her eye. “A ghost—or ghosts, rather.”

“Wha—?”

“A ghost dog and its apparent ghost master.” Jean Jacques retrieved a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket. “I cross-referenced all the others who have been shown the house, and the accounts don’t lie. They all had the same thing to say: a pure white hound and a pale apparition of a man beside it.”

Yuuri took the list from him, examining it behind his wide-rimmed glasses. “You have certainly done your research, Mr. Leroy.” He lowered the paper, gazing over the edge at the couple. “Sorry if this comes off as insensitive, but why is it you two care so much? What is stopping you from simply continuing your househunting venture elsewhere?”

“It’s simply _the perfect house_. Apart from the ghosts, of course.”

“Well…” Yuuri refolded the list, slipping it into his jacket. “I can’t say I particularly believe in the supernatural. Dogs interest me though. Perhaps we shall find one at the end of this case.”

Isabella clasped her hands. “So you’ll—?”

Yuuri stood, fishing Vicchan into his arms from where he had been resting upon his feet. “Write down the address for me. We’ll be on the first train tomorrow morning.”

* * *

Yuuri read and reread the list of references on the train, running the pads of his fingers over the accounts, the indents in the page.

It was the descriptions—above all else—that compelled him to take the case.

_Of course I was frightened! Who wouldn’t be frightened? But that man—the _ghost_—with the spirit hound… He felt otherworldly all right but in a fae-ish kind of way. He had long, flowing snow-white hair that swayed as he walked—or floated? I’m not exactly sure how spirits travel, and I don’t intend to find out._

_A ghost mutt and its human—long-dead human, I suppose, but human all the same. Am I sure it was a ghost? Most assuredly. The dog of course was pure white and left ghostly prints upon the floor. And the human’s hair was stark silver. Wore a white robe to boot. “Am I sure it was a ghost?” Ha!_

_Dog? What dog? I was too preoccupied looking at that gorgeous man beside it. Beautiful, silky white-blonde hair. I almost bought the place on the spot when I saw him—and I would have, if not for my husband. What a spoilsport. That man—or ghost—could make a homebody out of anyone._

_ _

Yuuri drummed his fingers through the paper to the table below it, mouth pursed.

It definitely wasn’t a ghost. Of that, Yuuri was quite confident. But it was still peculiar, whatever it was. A white dog was hardly the most unusual thing, but to leave ghostly prints…

Then there was the man. White—or otherwise very light—hair suggested an older gentleman, but the witnesses had described him as beautiful. He also wore white clothes, as if he was _trying _to appear ghostly.

And succeeding, apparently.

The train stuttered to a halt, the whistle loud in Yuuri’s ear despite the closed window. He gathered his materials into his trunk and replaced the hat atop his head, hoisting Vicchan into his arms with one hand while patting down his waistcoat with the other.

When he was convinced he was leaving the car just as he’d found it, he disembarked, placing Vicchan on the station floor as soon as they were out of the initial hustle and bustle.

“Mr. Katsuki!”

The Leroys picked him out of the crowd, coming up to shake his hand in greeting. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course.” Yuuri tapped at the face of his pocket watch. “I’d imagine this situation is quite vexing for you. The sooner I unravel the mystery, the better, yes?”

“Absolutely.” Mrs. Leroy took his arm. “Come, come. We have a car waiting.”

The commute was short, only long enough to take in a modicum of the English countryside. Before he knew it, Yuuri was at the entrance of a rather imposing mansion, its spires reaching up, piercing into the midday sun.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Isabella prompted as they walked up the drive.

“It’s…” Yuuri searched for an appropriate term. “… impressive.”

“Right?”

Jean Jacques brought the metal knocker down on the door, waiting only a moment before an elderly man answered.

“Ah, you two again.” He narrowed his eyes at Yuuri, scrutinizing. “And I suppose you’re the detective.”

Yuuri tipped his hat. “Yuuri Katsuki, consulting detective.”

The old man scoffed. “Ridiculous.” But he let them in anyway, leaving the door wide open. The party followed him into the foyer.

Yuuri took out a pad of paper, placing it between his teeth as he rooted his pockets for something to write with. “So,” he said, muffled, “are you the owner?”

“Owner? Hardly.” The man leaned on the banister. “I’m Yakov Feltsman, and I work for the government. The previous owner abandoned the place. I’m here to sell it, make a profit for the Queen." 

“Abandoned? You didn’t tell us—“  
  
“Mm, I see.” Yuuri scribbled down notes. “Was it abandoned due to its reputation of being ‘haunted’?”

“If it was, we don’t know about it.” Yakov snorted. “This whole ghost thing is nonsense, but we checked for any potential police reports made during the time the house was occupied, and there weren’t any.”

“So the sightings only happened after it was abandoned…”

“Yes.” Yakov shuffled back to the entrance, throwing a hand behind him. “Well, I’ve let you in. I’ll be in the cottage down the road if you need me.”

The door clanged shut, echoing up into the rafters. 

“Interesting.” The tip of Yuuri’s tongue peeked between his lips as he continued to scrawl. “He is staying nearby and has access to the house…”

“You don’t think—?”

Yuuri capped his pen. “It’s always a possibility, though he has no motive. It would actually benefit him _more _to finish up the sale as soon as possible and be done with it.” He gazed up the staircase, contemplating. “I think I’ll take a look around.”  
  
Jean Jacques squared his shoulders. “Do you want me to accompany you?”

“No, it’s all right.” Yuuri leaned down and patted his precious pup. “I have all the backup I’ll ever need right here.”

As though in agreement, Vicchan lapped at his owner’s hand.

He left the couple at the entry, taking the stairs first to search the upper floor. A fine Persian rug led him down a hall of many doors. He perused them methodically: opening the wardrobes, pulling out the drawers, looking under the beds. Vicchan sniffed at his heels, as though conducting an investigation of his own.

When he found nothing of note in the bedrooms, he backtracked downstairs, first coming across the parlor.

It was a wide and immaculate room, a tea table set up in the center as though the proprietors had merely stepped out.

But it was beyond that—the kitchen—that Yuuri found most curious.

It appeared freshly used, all the way down to fruits not yet overripe in the pantry. Yuuri half-expected the stove to still be warm when he ran a hand over it, but alas, no such luck.

There were also various amounts of baking material strewn about: sugar and flour and salt, as though someone had been in the midst of making a cake but startled when they had heard guests entering the house, abandoning their post to escape out the thrown-open garden door.

Wait a minute—

Why _was _that door open?

A spring breeze nearly took Yuuri’s hat when he crept out the doorway, fingers coming up to pinch at the brim while the other hand grappled at the chipped lacquer, paint coming off in little white bits under the pads of his gloves.

There was white on the lawn as well—and Yuuri almost thought it an extension of the door, but no, these marks were far more meaningful in nature: dots with a smattering of smaller dots around the helm.

Anyone with a dog could recognize the significance.

Yuuri followed the tracks with his eyes—up and up—and was then struck by a vision in the center of the garden.

His white robe and hair billowed around him with another warm gust of wind, exposing equally white skin: the jut of his ankles, the insides of his wrists, the hallow of his throat.

But his widening eyes were blue, blue, _blue_—

The man—ghost?—whipped his head around and whistled, high and melodious.

A creature heeded his call immediately, barreling out of the gardenias, white and staining the shrubbery whiter still.

They fled together—master and companion—out the back gate, leaving it whining on its hinges; Vicchan reacted before Yuuri, yipping after them—_giving chase_—and Yuuri finally found the presence of mind to do the same.

By the time he caught up to Vicchan, the tiny thing was trying to vault himself over a brick wall, scrabbling at the surface and whimpering when it proved too high for him.

“Did they jump over there?” Yuuri asked, running a finger along the divide. It was only up to his hip—too tall for Vicchan, sure—but the apparition’s pet was far larger. He imagined it didn’t even have to slow its gait much to conquer it. And with how long and lithe its owner’s legs appeared to be, he probably didn’t have to either.

“What’s this…?” Yuuri lifted Vicchan into his arms, rubbing at the pup’s paws. They were turned white—presumably from traversing the same path as their ghostly visitors—but the more Yuuri poked at it, the more it came off in flecks, soft and powdery. 

“Flour…?”

That was it, wasn’t it? They weren’t supernatural prints at all—merely leftovers of a stint into baking gone wrong.

Yuuri started to doubt if the dog was even white to begin with.

“Mr. Katsuki!" 

The Leroys hurried across the green over to Yuuri, holding skirts, handkerchiefs in hand.

“We heard the commotion,” Jean Jacques wheezed, coming to a halt before Yuuri. “Did you see the ghosts?”

Yuuri shrugged. “Yes and no.”

Isabella blinked. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, I saw the ‘ghosts,’ but they’re not actually ghosts at all.”

“_What_?”

Yuuri hiked Vicchan up over his shoulder. “Come back to the house with me. I can prove it." 

* * *

It was a simple enough matter to backtrack to the kitchen, point out the flour strewn across the counter, all over the floor. He contrasted it to the tracks left in the garden as well as the powder still clinging to Vicchan’s paws, cementing the comparison.

“I understand now.” Isabella bit into the nail of her thumb. “But then who is that man, if not a ghost? What is he doing here? What is his objective?”

“I’m not entirely sure as to the why,” Yuuri admitted, “but I do believe I know where to find the who.” He picked up his trunk, his hat. “When I return, this whole ordeal will be over.”

“Shall we—?”

“No, I don’t want to scare him off. Best I go alone.” He smiled at Vicchan, waiting dutifully at his feet. “Well… not entirely. But you should leave it to us.”

It turned out Yuuri didn’t even need to knock on Yakov’s door. The “ghosts” were already out, sulking in the front yard.

“Don’t run!” Yuuri called, when the man made to get up; thankfully, he froze at the pleading tone. “At least not without letting me pet your dog first.”

Tension rolled off the stranger in waves, but slowly, his shoulders untensed. “Aren’t you a detective?” he accused. “Aren’t you going to charge me with a crime?”

“For what?”

“Disturbing the peace? Trespassing? Loitering?”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

The man scoffed. “How did you know I would be here?”

“The culprit had to be someone with regular access to the house. There was only one man—though he’s a bit old to be playing games such as this.” Yuuri stooped to one knee, petting a hand over the other dog’s back; as expected, it came back white, exposing a rich chocolate brown coat underneath. “So,” he posed, “want to tell me what got you into the business of haunting?”

The former apparition sighed, slumping against the wall of the cottage. “It’s not terribly complicated.”

Yuuri cut a look at the flour everywhere, the strange outfit, the house of horrors across the way. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Well firstly, my name is Victor Nikiforov.” He whistled, beckoning his companion. “And this is my friend, Makkachin.”

“A good boy.”

“A _very _good boy.”

“But not yours, is he?”

Victor hung his head. “No. You see…” There was a draw of breath, a quiver in his lip. “I apprentice Yakov—follow him around the country, doing government work. And we came about this project: a manor, entirely abandoned. It wasn’t particularly unusual. However, this time, the owners abandoned much more than a mere piece of property; they left their _dog _too. What kind of monsters do that?”

Yuuri fingered at Vicchan, a lump forming in his throat. “Monsters indeed.”

“Yes, I thought so too. So I tried to take him in—but Yakov forbade it, saying he’d be a burden to travel with.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. So I kept him at the house—and hatched the plan to scare away any potential buyers, lest Makkachin be thrown out onto the streets post-purchase.”

“A noble enough pursuit,” Yuuri admitted. “But I don’t believe you would have been able to keep up the charade for very long. I’m sure you would have been found out, given enough time.”

“You’re right.” Victor sniffled, his fingers clenching where they were buried in Makkachin’s curls. “Of course you’re right. But I was willing to do anything.”

Yuuri looked at him for a long time. “I believe in the principle of your mission,” he said at last, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to cease and desist.”

Victor swallowed. “I know.”

“However—“

“However?”

“I will solve your dilemma for you.” Yuuri picked up Vicchan, the tiny thing wriggling in his hold. “This is Vicchan. Say hello, Vicchan.” He lifted his dog’s paw, giving a little wave that had Victor holding his stomach with giggles. “Vicchan lives with me in London. It’s not an especially large place, but the more, the merrier, you know?”

“Wait, are you saying—?” 

“I’ll take Makkachin off your hands.” Yuuri smiled over his poodle’s head, soft and dimpled. “And you can come and visit us anytime you’d like, all right?”

“You…” Yuuri flinched as tears sprang to Victor’s eyes; he needn’t have worried though, as Victor was throwing himself into Yuuri’s arms the very next moment “An angel! A _saint_! I could just kiss you right now!”

Yuuri’s cheeks darkened, hot against Victor’s own. “Perhaps we should have tea together first…?”

Victor drew back, lips pulling into an arc. “You got it, Mr. Detective.”

**Author's Note:**

> The accompanying art was done by the always wonderful [Alli (nikiforoov)](https://nikiforoov.net/). Thank you for collabing with me, friend. <3
> 
> So should I write another foray into this Sherlock Holmes universe, featuring Detective Yuuri Katsuki and his inevitable sidekick, Mr. Victor Nikiforov? Let me know in the comments~


End file.
